


i'm still looking up

by aceofdiamonds



Series: even if the skies get dark // harry and george [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-12 20:54:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16003118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aceofdiamonds/pseuds/aceofdiamonds
Summary: But that’s too much for someone, for everything Harry wants to ask for, and so instead he turns his face, presses a kiss to the smattering of freckles on his arm, holds on to everything he has here in this tiny room in the house he loves so much. “All I want is this,” he mumbles into George’s skin, cheeks burning with the openness of it.one night, the summer before sixth year





	i'm still looking up

**Author's Note:**

> hello it's me i haven't written anything in months and then this happened all of a sudden. it's very very full of feelings, all kinds of feelings, and, like i said, i haven't written anything for ages, but! i hope you like it! title is from i won't give up by jason mraz

 

 

There’s one night in the summer. One night where George has Apparated back to the Burrow, has climbed into his old room, the room where Harry is staying, a sign from the gods that he isn’t sharing with Ron. They’ve had their fun, the way teenage boys full to the brim with hormones and desperation and long times apart are wont to do, and now they’re still, quiet, enough to just be. 

The window is open, the curtains too, and the moonlight is filtering across George’s face from Harry’s angle, his cheek on George’s outstretched arm. From here, he watches the slant of George’s nose, the freckles scattered across his skin, gathering on his jawline, the shadows of his eyelashes as he gazes out of the window, thinking things Harry can’t reach. 

George Weasley is one half of a double act in constant motion and Harry is privy to this side of him, privy to this stillness of him, of the way he comes apart, of what makes him tick. He is trusted with this moment, on a warm summer’s night, for them to lie, side by side, and he cradles it in his hands. 

Grief hits him in this silence, a crashing wave of what ifs and why nots, of everything he never asked Sirius, everything he will never know of his parents, of their friendship, if they felt the way Harry does know as he looks at George and knows that in love and war something will have to give or they’ll all get hurt. 

It hits him, this ever powerful grief, and a gasp slips out.  

That pulls George’s attention from the thoughts running around his head back to Harry, a frown bending his features. “Okay, Harry?” 

And this is where Harry always makes a choice between lying and saying he’s fine, smoothing it over, or admitting that their Chosen One is fallible to emotions. It’s never really a choice with George, never has been, and that’s half the reason they’re here in this bed. 

“Mm. Just thinking about Sirius.” 

George could make a joke, one about sex and leaving people out of places they shouldn’t be, but he doesn’t -- he curls his arm around Harry, pulls him ever closer to him, drops a kiss on his head. “Tell me.” 

“I miss him,” which is oversimplifying it but it’s the heart of the matter. 

And George says, “I miss him too,” and neither of them know of the horror that will reach them in just under two years from now and the loss that will almost be too big for them to make it through. “Tell me if you need anything from me.” 

But that’s too much for someone, for everything Harry wants to ask for, and so instead he turns his face, presses a kiss to the smattering of freckles on his arm, holds on to everything he has here in this tiny room in the house he loves so much. “All I want is this,” he mumbles into George’s skin, cheeks burning with the openness of it. 

“Good,” is the reply, and then George is tilting his face, kissing Harry, his body warm. “I love you,” he says then, a phrase so quietly huge, so much bigger, it feels, than everything around them. George presses kisses along Harry’s jaw, along his neck. “I love you, Harry, okay? I love you so much.”

There’s an impulse in Harry to deflect it, to make a joke, if only because his heart feels too full. Instead he curls a hand at George’s neck, kisses him, so gentle, cradling the words in the space between them, and it’s something he hasn’t thought about before, despite all of Dumbledore’s insistence -- that was different, that was his parents’ love for him, that isn’t lying in a bed with a boy who knows you better than you know yourself, who makes you laugh, who knows the right things to say at all the wrong times -- but he says them and it feels right and it feels heavy and he can’t believe that such a moment can exist so soon after Sirius, after the prophecy, but here they are -- he takes a breath, says “I love you” and George’s answering beam has him laughing and laughing, allowing George to kiss him quiet lest they invite the entire house into their den. 

Once they’ve gotten carried away with their kissing, their big declarations making them forget they were ever tired, once they’ve made each other breathless, those love yous dripping out over and over again as they marvel at one another’s bodies, they settle back into their peaceful state from before, both grinning lazily. 

“Ron’s going to be insufferable,” Harry says suddenly. 

“Why more than usual?” 

“When we tell him about this,” which makes George blink. “Don’t you think we should at some point? I know Fred knows but Fred doesn’t count.” 

“Have I told you I love you?” George simpers, hand on heart, and they still have their to-and-fro, their laughing, but somehow there’s another layer to it now, so strong. “But I mean, I don’t know if you know this, Harry, mate, but you’re a bit well-known, what with the scar and the future of the world in your hands -- I’m okay with keeping quiet.” 

“Well I wasn’t exactly going to go running to Rita Skeeter, but Ron, Hermione, who knows who else? Although I might as well go the full way and let them add bisexual to their list of names for me.” 

“So many titles,” George agrees. “I’m jealous. I might make one for myself. George Weasley: The Better Looking Twin. George Weasley: The Boy who Sha --” 

“Stop,” Harry laughs, knowing where he’s going with it. “Go to sleep.” 

“Fine but I need to set my alarm -- that was too close last time when Fleur almost walked in and I was still here.” 

“What a nice surprise for her that would have been,” Harry agrees. “I’m glad you’re here,” because he’s being very earnest tonight but if Dumbledore has taught him anything it’s that you should trust, and you should share, and you should do something with all that love inside of you because it’s very important in the grand scheme of things.

“Harry Potter: The Boy Who Said Cheesy Lines.” 

“That was pathetic.”

“It was. I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”

“Get out my bed.” 

“Actually, it’s my bed -- no, don’t kick me!”

“I wish Fred was here.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” 

“That’s right. I opened my heart to you and now you’re throwing it in my face  -- Harry? Are you sleeping? Since you started all of this, can I tell you that I worry about you all the time?” 

There’s a pause as Harry tries to keep up with the emotional whiplash. “You don’t need to worry about me,” and he goes to add that enough people do, he doesn’t need one more, but he knows that from George it’s a specific type of worrying, so he allows it. 

“You’re one of the most frustrating people I’ve ever met. You know I think about you all the time and what stupidly brave thing you’ll be doing next.” 

“It’s my saving people thing,” Harry says, Ron’s words always there. 

“Well you be the hero, the hero that stays as safe as they can while still being a hero, and I’ll be in the shop making people laugh, how does that sound?” 

“That sounds alright.” 

“Merlin, we’re a couple of soppy gits, aren’t we?” But sometimes, Harry has decided, that’s exactly what needs to be said and if things like this, summer nights with small kisses and big confessions, are what gets them through everything, then that’s okay.

 


End file.
